


love, yr cousin

by basketofnovas (slashmarks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest (Harry Potter), Cousin Incest, Death Eaters, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, F/M, Mixed Media, Second War with Voldemort, Sketches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmarks/pseuds/basketofnovas
Summary: Freed of Azkaban, Bellatrix starts a journal to keep track of her tattered memories and the old papers she's going through.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38
Collections: Fic In A Box





	love, yr cousin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mimsical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimsical/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this treat! I had a lot of fun with it.

January 15, 1996

There is absolutely nothing of interest in Devonshire. Cissy tried to get me to go for a walk earlier "for your health, Bella," and I told her that staring at uncountable mile on mile of rapeseed fields was liable to drive me back into insanity. She didn't like that much, but I'm afraid prison has made me untactful.

No one is very surprised by that these days. Apparently all I had to do to place myself ever beyond the bounds of demure pureblood etiquette was be convicted of one measly act of torture - all right, properly two - and be moderately defiant to the court. If I had known that at sixteen my life might have been rather different.

Everyone is convinced of my insanity, at any rate, even those who ought to know better because they remember me, or should. The newly counted faithful stare at me as though I'm liable to begin screaming in demonic languages and cursing the furniture. I told Yaxley & Greyback, who were around for a meeting yesterday, that they had no right to have lost all memory of me when I was the one who spent more than a decade locked up with dementors, and Yaxley looked at me like I was an elf who'd begun declaiming in Mermish! 

At least Greyback laughed; we had a nice little argument about which of the woods tasted better if I should hanker to chew on the baseboards before that feckless toady Malfoy walked in and looked like he might faint. I'd have kept going but Greyback is v. conscious of the possibility that his host will curse him out of the house.

Back again; V. called. I was going to say earlier, I'm having trouble keeping my memories straight after prison and I decided to start keeping this to track the days until I'm thinking more clearly. I don't know if it's really the dementors or just that it was easier not to remember in Azkaban and now I'm in the habit, but either way it's trouble. 

It had to wait until Lestrange had gone to our vault and retrieved the trunk with my library so that I could look up the appropriate spells. He went this morning, and I'm now confident this book is encrypted as well as a journal can be against anyone else reading it. V. might be able to through the mark because of the exchange of essences involved. Actually I should have him try later, I'm sure he'll be interested; but not on this. There's no need to point out I'm writing things down and risk him getting in a tizzy about it; I'll apply the charms to a piece of paper and make it into a hypothetical.

What do I remember about the last week, then? I know I've been out of prison a week, since evening last Monday, at least that's what people keep telling me. This morning: Lestrange's trip to the vault; fight with Cissy over the relative attractiveness of rural Devonshire as a residence; enchanted journal. Sunday: the meeting; Malfoy stalked around sulking about being forced to host all of these ruffians for dinner after. No idea what I did all morning. 

Saturday: Cissy mailed package to offspring (I suppose he is of age to read and open letters and such now; difficult to imagine, was roughly shape and size of large hippogriff egg when saw him last); Dolohov and Rabastan nearly came to blows over something idiotic - that's not an evasion, it's what Lestrange said when he came to get me, they were dueling over "something idiotic" - and I was required to break it up. I believe I threatened to feed the winner's eyeballs to Greyback when he arrived for meeting. (He finds this sort of thing amusing himself otherwise I would not say it; I was raised to believe it unwise to insult your allies while they are behaving, a lesson Malfoy has never learned.) Azkaban did not do wonders for my patience either, I see; what would Mother say?

(Note to self - write to Mother, make sure to include no traceable details.)

Friday - was it Friday we had the dinner with the damn peacocks and Mulciber called Malfoy effete and I had to go and defend him asking if resemblance to women was an insult now just to get some peace to eat? Or was that Thursday? And what else happened either day, anyway? I can't recall. Damn it.

Anyway I have been going through my possessions from the vault since lunch. How fortunate we stored them in Gringotts before the Longbottoms' testimony, although of course we thought the house might be watched, not that the Ministry idiots would destroy the place. Lestrange is very annoyed although I asked if really it was much of a loss seeing as we could not change anything about it without the portraits hollering. Pity we went and saved the one of his mother, although I suppose if I spend the rest of my life as a fugitive I at least shall not be forced to reside with it and listen to her snide remarks upon my manners and existence.

If Grimmauld Place burned to the ground we could have a family reunion and dance in the ashes in glee, and possibly host a feast barbecued upon the flames. I do wonder how Sirius is doing since he escaped; I think he tried to write once or twice but naturally the Aurors did not allow it through. (Note to self - write Sirius? Or had I better not?)

My personal effects so far from vault:  
-books, assorted  
-jewelry box, various contents  
-robes, fifteen years out of date and too expensive to not make it obvious plus designed just for me, will need to be resewn or will give me away immediately even with polyjuice  
-Death Eater archival papers from last war; V. was pleased to know they were secure, will need to get Cissy to help sort and perhaps one of the men if they are feeling well enough  
-personal papers; haven't touched these yet

Here I will break and comment upon that last entry and the state of my mind in general; it may be useful if someone must deal with dementor exposure some day (perhaps even me; we will need to retrieve more from Azkaban after all). I am well enough, that is I can make conversation and complete a given task and walk about and dress and all, as long as I do not think. I am quite well if I can refrain from turning my thoughts inward; it is as though the inside of my head was a mirror wrapped in cobwebs, with one clear spot near the center. If my eyes remain on that spot I see clearly; but anywhere off to the edges there are spiders scuttling and dead things wrapped up in silk and all obscured by cobwebs. And it is very hard not to look; for every so often something skitters from the edges across the clear space and I am drawn to follow it.

I have become morbid in my confinement, as you see. I did not mind spiders before Azkaban, there were always plenty in Grimmauld Place, but Azkaban and being locked in with the pests all the time has rather diminished the appeal. I might scream if I saw a rat or at the very least curse it; how embarrassing.

But I must clear the cobwebs from my mind, for I will need it soon. I think I shall go through the personal papers now; if I am lucky they may remind me how my mind is supposed to be. At any rate it's more pleasant than allowing myself to dwell. It seems there is a box of old correspondence on top, and I was kind enough to my future self to copy my own letters before they were sent. Although the order appears to be somewhat jumbled.

_1 July 1978_

_Dearest Bella,_

_I suppose you are surprised to have a reply from me after all this time. It's been more than two years, and you must think I've stopped reading your letters, unless I've missed a charm on them to check. Well, I haven't. I read every one. And I read what you sent me last week about Reggie._

_I want you to know that I'm furious with you. But I'm glad to hear that you're not happy about it. I thought you ~~had convinced yourself you~~ were. But I don't think there's much I can say, is there? You know how I feel about the whole thing; well, I haven't changed my mind, but you wouldn't expect me to. You mentioned seeing me at the attack last week in your letter, so we both know what I've joined._

_I still miss you, almost every day. I thought we would be together when I graduated. You promised me that my first year, even if no one else came. I'm not saying this because I'm angry you stayed away, it isn't as if you were the one refusing to speak to me, after all. And despite it I still feel confident if I'd written and asked you'd have shown, whereas the request to say, Father, would be unthinkable._

_(I've mostly stopped calling him that but writing Orion to you was too strange.)_

_I think it would be better to speak in person; I keep starting and stopping, wondering what if your husband comes across this letter, or Cissy, let alone Voldemort. (Am I going to get you in trouble by writing that? I don't care to use his stupid euphemisms, and his title would be far worse, but I want you to read this!) Could you write back with a time we can meet in person? I am apparently stupid or idealistic enough to trust you that far._

_Affectionately,  
Sirius_

It's a very sweet letter I've enclosed here, isn't it? He was such an affectionate child. Very accurate closing. It's troubling me a bit, though, because I had absolutely forgotten that I had spoken to him in person at all after he ran away - I mean, I remember telling him about Regulus's death, but nothing else.

Well, then, perhaps I didn't and it came to nothing, but it feels more like a hole in my memory - thank you, dementors - than a simple inconclusive lead. There are some feelings coming through; apparently I feel bad about it, whatever I did, although I don't know what it was. Maybe I will write him and ask if the letters don't tell me.

January 17, 1996

Terrible yesterday, most of day in bed, screaming match with Cissy, didn't bother to write. Lestrange is v. patient with me but then he has to be, we're stuck in a bedroom together courtesy the Malfoys' hosting us and I'm a better duelist.

Discussed plans with V. today for apparently the third time; no recollection of previous conversations, which annoyed him I think until he saw how shaken _I_ was to find out we'd had the conversation more than once. Then he went solicitous which, frankly, was terrifying. 

I assured him I took notes on the meeting and he got me to go and write down the conversation we had had in front of him, which enabled me to mention the issue with the encryption charms - which somehow I remember perfectly well, thank you, mysteries of the human mind. We confirmed that he can read it, but only if he's activating my mark at the time; theoretical implications would be fascinating if I could focus on them. Anyway he can hardly go through the journal and ambush me with it since my mark has to continuously burn the whole time. I can't really prevent it but I _would_ notice.

Currently we are reactivating old networks, evaluating supplies, etc; need to determine who of unmarked allies is still amenable, who has fled, who needs to be killed for talking, etc. V. estimates it may be months yet and is displeased but of course he was gathering resources for years last time, it's not a significant delay in the grand scheme of things.

In the meantime, since he can do nothing much there, he is working on that prophecy issue. Naturally, having been brought down by it once he wants to stop it happening again. I have a feeling we have argued on this subject before, eg. before he went and got himself killed (certainly not going to call it that out loud, but it's true) but I suspect the negative consequences of taking the prophecy seriously are inevitable at this point and he can hardly undo attempting to kill a prophesied baby. We are now living in a capital T Tragedy or we aren't. It is what it is.

He is trying to get Potter to go in and take the prophecy, whereupon it will or should be simple enough to steal it from a fifteen year old. (I did not mention the reputed issues killing that same boy minus one year of age last June. Anyway it's true V. can't go himself.) I agree it makes sense to know what the enemy is counting on with regards to the prophecy, since we believe Dumbledore has heard the thing.

I am concerned about this mental bond V. is using to implant visions. Something about it sounds off. Though V. is, of course, the definitive expert on mind magic so if he's not worried who am I to say?

January 18, 1996

January 19, 1996

Papers last two days, v. tedious but necessary. Arranging for people to check up on this bank account, that property; this source, that supporter... Cissy is naturally in her element and has tea arranged with a different group every day for the next fortnight, fluttering about planning out outfits, menus, bribes, blackmail... 

I suppose it is best that someone is happy.

I _was_ meeting Sirius, I found some time to go through more personal papers and found a few more in between the approximately three hundred pages of chatter from the Black and Lestrange extended clans about who dueled who at whose wedding. But they are very uninformative. I've enclosed some samples. Frustrating!

_10 July 1978_

_Dearest Bella,_

_Same time and place next week?_

_Love,  
Sirius_

_11 July 1978_

_Dear Cousin,_

_The time is fine, but we'd better not repeat the place. How do you feel about 101 Charing Cross Rd instead?_

_Love,  
Bella_

And then there's this from some months later. I didn't sign it but it's my handwriting.

_21 October, 1978_

_Darling Cousin,_

_I know I said I'd meet you at the usual place on Oxford Street, but something's come up and I think I had better not on the whole. I'm sorry to disappoint! I know how you pine and whine, after all. Write back and tell me which days you're free next week, Monday or Wednesday would be alright in the morning, or quite late Thursday._

_All my love._

So whatever I was doing with him, and pretty regularly from the sound of it, by October I was concerned someone would intercept, or find the note in his flat, or something - I suppose the latter since I don't think it was ever encrypted; but he has an innumerable herd of cousins so that would tell his friends almost nothing.

The funny thing is the streets mentioned. I was fairly certain about Charing Cross but I went and checked anyway and they're both in muggle London.

21 January, 1996

Had a row with Rabastan about nothing in particular, you know, who isn't picking up their robes and who isn't a house elf and whose fault is it anyway that the Malfoys no longer have one? 

(I asked Cissy about it later and apparently depending on one's view of the situation the answer is either her husband, the elf itself or Harry Potter, or, frankly, the Horcrux itself. Personally it sounds to me like everyone involved in the entire situation was a perfect idiot, but I don't know, maybe I am missing some nuance that would have been apparent if I wasn't rotting in a cell at the time.)

Snape dropped by, it being the weekend and him temporarily free of child minding, and we had fun sniping at each other over dinner although I am afraid some of the remarks about the uses of human organs in potions and their potential culinary application rather distressed a few of the other guests. I do not like Snape and I trust him as far as I could throw him without magic in my present deteriorated condition, but he does have a sense of humor. 

Also led to the fantastic discovery that the house elf in question has taken up work at Hogwarts. I asked if the Malfoy culinary secrets had been expropriated for the staff table then and he told me about how the elf demanded pay, which is the hardest I've laughed since the escape. 

"But Hogwarts barely pays the _teachers!_ " I said.

"No one is more aware of that than I," said Snape, in his fantastic, no-human-being-has-ever-suffered-as-I-have mien. If we kept him around for comedic relief he would be fantastic, much better than that rat, but I cannot believe V. actually _trusts_ him.

23 January, 1996

25 January, 1996

Did something stupid today; went out to London.

I wasn't a total idiot. The other day I pleaded Cissy to help modify some robes - some mine, some hers - so that I can leave the house without looking like some kind of nightmarish ghost of seventies pureblood society. Well, I was thinking I might have to run some errands in muggle London at some point and she agreed it was a possibility and we split a couple of the plainer options up into skirt and blouse; I can wear them as underclothes with robes too. 

Today when she went off to sort out another issue between guests I slipped off. It was a headache, I mean, the protections against Apparition go all the way to the gates at the Malfoys' house and it's a clear ten minute walk, and I'm not in good shape; and there is no privacy in the house whatsoever with so many people so I was sure to be missed if I wasn't careful. I asked Lestrange to tell V. or anyone else who asked I was weak and had to lie down - that happens often so it wasn't hard - and he agreed. Didn't ask questions. Well, that's why I married him.

Then I put on the black skirt and the gray blouse and a set of thick wool robes over it, since I'd have to go for a long walk in January, and I climbed down from the balcony to the court and ran for the lane. Hopefully nobody saw. We're not supposed to be risking arrest, V. wouldn't be happy, even if he's not about to think _I_ have turned traitor. 

(As though anyone on the other side would even have me! I am, after all, the notoriously insane Bellatrix Lestrange. The books and papers all call me that; it's as though I never had a maiden name.)

Once I got to the gate it was easy enough. I grew up in London, I know most of the sheltered Apparition spots. I put the hood up in case there was another witch or wizard there, and Apparated to the lee of the Leaky Cauldron; then I transfigured my cloak and robes into a wool coat, those odd short ones muggles wear, and walked out - to 101 Charing Cross, of course. 

It wasn't too far, five or six blocks, but I was exhausted, it was the most physical activity I've had in - oh, a decade or so. I don't know what I expected, really; perhaps just that my memory would be jogged, but it's some horrid, filthy muggle eating place now, nowhere you would meet someone. 

The building did look familiar. I walked around the block so no one would notice me lingering and tried to recognize things; got a flash of a thought, Sirius in that awful leather coat, smoking with his head turned away on the walk. In the memory he's waiting for me, and I'm excited to see him, but sneaking up, I want to surprise him. It feels like being a teenager again. But that's all I remember.

Cannot imagine how muggles can stand those horrid cars all day every day. They must lack a great deal of sensitivity, I suppose it's like how cattle don't startle the way horses do... Or they're simply used to it.

Lestrange must have known where I'd been from the smell but he didn't ask. I washed the clothing with magic just in case; then I really did have to lie down and sleep the rest of the day, it's eleven at night now.

26 January, 1996

Terrible today again, shaky and exhausted, overdid it with that trip yesterday. Lestrange and Cissy both worried; V. annoyed. One of the Ministry sources has gone dead and threatened to turn over Lucius when he approached him yesterday so he had to be Imperiused in a hurry and now we are concerned about covering it up long term as he works in a sensitive position where they check. 

Although Cissy says he had several mistresses on the side and may have been in debt trying to cover it, so if we can arrange for his wife finding out staging his suicide will be easy enough. And there's a marked subordinate who could be promoted to the job so it may turn out well after all! Or so I told V. soothingly. It annoys me so when he kills people for bringing him bad news and then I have to replace them.

My hands are shaking now from exhaustion. It would be just my luck if I'd gotten pneumonia going out for a walk in January. Of course witches shouldn't, but dementors rather depress magic and therefore the immune system. Need to lie down again.

29 January 1996

Very ill. More later?

31 January 1996

2 February 1996

As the hypothetical reader may have ascertained I got pneumonia, and they couldn't even order a thrice-damned appropriate healing potion because guess what would bring the Ministry down on us? It's very common in people released from Azkaban! Finally someone worked out the identity of a healer who was trustworthy last time and arranged a house visit for "Narcissa Malfoy" for "women's problems," so anyone who sees the record is blank will assume she was illegally contracting abortion.

I didn't mention this before but it wasn't just that I went out for a walk in January that I was really too tired for; V. cursed me the next day over sending Lucius to deal with that source. Well, you don't want to use the Cruciatus on someone who is fragile for a great number of reasons. Madam Healer actually went and shouted at him and told him I would die if I caught it again in this state, which was somewhat humiliating and also terrifying but amazingly he did not curse her, too. So I'm up again and eating at the desk instead of in bed off a tray and capable of writing or drawing the last couple of days, I've just had paperwork to catch up on first.

The blank days provide an impression of blank memories but my mind is functioning slowly better and I _have_ been reading, which is to say I now know what I was doing with Sirius. Here is the incriminating evidence:

_2 December, 1978_

_Dearest Cousin,_

_I was thinking about you today, the whole luncheon._

_Mrs. Prewett was standing, giving her talk about charitable endeavors and raising the status of the unwashed masses through our pure, virtuous gold, etc (all right, she probably didn't say "unwashed" but I was not listening so perhaps she did). I don't see what the point of these things is, I mean, I could write them a bank draft from the Lestrange vault for a thousand galleons without the infliction of suffering on my soul. Perhaps it's a sort of flavoring for the money - like tormenting those ducks for their livers?_

_But I digress. There she was, talking about the poor needy children and I shifted in my chair, and a seam in my shift pressed up against the welt on my inner thigh, and suddenly I was back, last night. It was as total as if I had been enchanted - I swear I could hear your breath in my ear, your fingers bruising my hip - you inside me._

_It was a torment. You will think I am teasing you but just think of how you teased me in my memory! I am merely taking revenge._

_Anyway I know I said I wasn't sure if I would have time with the upcoming season's events but I miscalculated. I need to see you. Monday?_

_Love,  
B._

That's not the only one I found either. Observe:

_29 August 1978_

_Dearest Bella,_

_You're going to tell me I sound very eighteen, and okay, you'll be right, but I can't stop thinking about you. Last night I dreamed you were sucking me off and teasing me, not letting me come, and I woke up and felt like I was going to die because I didn't have any time to linger._

_I'm reading this paragraph over and it's so romantic sounding, isn't it? I'm leaving it there so you know how you're tormenting me but I'll try again. Dearest, darling Bella, I want to see you again as soon as possible, and six more days is far too long. Can we meet sooner?_

_Love,  
Yr. Cousin,  
Sirius_

There's another one that might be fiction where I'm talking about the two of us shagging locked out on the balcony at the Smith family Christmas party, which I gather was a masquerade that year at least if I believe this letter. There's always one or two over Christmas, but it's not even the Dementors' fault if I can't keep the parties straight, I had trouble at the time. When it mattered - which is to say when it was political - I would go home and take notes so I could keep it straight. (I suppose that's the real function of all of those gossipy letters.)

At any rate it seems possible that Sirius at that age would have thought to gatecrash a masquerade, especially to tease me if we were having an affair at the time. I am less certain that I would ever have thought it a good idea to allow him to fuck me over the balcony railing, let alone while wearing a fox mask. I mean, talk about trite cliches!

Anyway. I suppose I see why I felt rather iffy about the whole subject of having seen Sirius and yet couldn't remember it. That was bothering me; I replayed the conversation where I told him Reggie was dead and he told me it was my fault and I'd as good as killed him myself every damn week in Azkaban, especially once he had broken out and I didn't have him there. So I assumed if we'd fought I'd remember that _too_ well. But of course if I found the affair - how do I say it - emotionally fulfilling? I'd have had trouble thinking about it, and yet not exactly proud of my conduct.

(Not the adultery - I think these last weeks are the first time Lestrange has been out of prison and _not_ had a piece or six on the side - but well, Sirius my little cousin and just graduated and, oh, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, what's not to be bothered by?)

I want to write to him, quite a bit more than when I first found the letter (and thank Merlin I did _not_ write and ask him what we'd talked about, hah!) but I feel equally strongly - more strongly - that I probably shouldn't. I am assuming we never got caught, as I would certainly remember that conversation with V., but cannot be totally sure he never suspected and certainly can't ask anyone. I suppose if I felt like fishing I could tell Lestrange I found some letters from a lover and did I ever give him any hints who it might have been, but he might ask to see in case he'd recognize the handwriting. And I'm not sure if he knows Sirius's, but certainly "cousin" is suggestive even in the unsigned ones.

I should also stop reading these papers. Yes, _that_ will happen.

5 February 1996

8 February 1996

Have had little motivation to write in this lately. At least my memory is clearing up slightly. Duel today - not involving me until cleanup. If somebody has to go to St. Mungo's and explain who cursed them and why and where exactly they were V. will be livid, and so will I. I may not have to worry about him murdering the involved parties if I do it first.

~~I miss Sirius.~~

11 February 1996

_Dear Sirius,_

_~~I miss you. I was hoping we could~~ _

_~~Do you remember our affair? I didn't until recently; I found our letters in my papers from Gringotts. Evidently the two of us found a surprising amount of time considering events of 1978~~ _

_~~I know this will be unwelcome but I wanted to tell you that I still love you, as my cousin foremost, and I was hoping~~ _

_~~I don't know if you'll even open this letter~~ _

Merlin damn it all.

13 February 1996

_Dear Sirius,_

_I already know starting out that I won't send this letter, but perhaps writing it will cease the urge to do something foolish and compose a real one._

_I have been thinking of you; do you ever think of me? Granted there is precious else to do in Devonshire except for go to meetings, be at meetings, plan meetings, and restrain the other escapees from murdering each other or destroying the house, or Lucius Malfoy, which is a real pity as I would really like to help with that last item instead. (I know you will sympathize with me on this item. What do you suppose the most fitting method would be? Rabastan suggested feeding him to those peacocks in bits I am not sure if peacocks are carnivorous. I suppose I could ask him...)_

_So perhaps I can be forgiven for fixating on an affair nearly twenty years in the past. I am starting to remember flashes of it, although not very many whole memories: you smoking in the kitchen of that awful place you bought with Uncle Alphard's money; sitting on the roof of some godforsaken establishment with an open bottle of firewhiskey, laughing; that time we had sex en masque at the Smith Christmas party..._

_I remember more about our actual relationship now even if the individual meetings are still scarce. Unfortunately it is all too easy to see why it appealed. I don't dare say more about that, even to myself; I mean, I could say that V. was always capricious but as the war went on - and now restarts - he is trending less towards prickly and proud and more towards unstable and tyrannical but what would the use of that be?_

_Regret is useful only insofar as it may result in changing your actions and I think we are a bit locked into our respective places, my faithful hound. What is the use of thinking if all it does is lead you into disloyalty?_

_If my first thought is that even if I left, and even if anyone would let you have me, and even if you_ wanted _to which last time I recall we spoke you rather did not, what would he do to Narcissa - is that an argument for or against?_

_I have gone places here I did not anticipate when I began the letter. I think I had better stop now._

_My affection & longing eternal,  
yr cousin Bella_

16 February 1996

Well. This is the letter I ended up sending at last:

_Dear Sirius,_

_I don't know if you'll open this or who will read it, so I'll keep it short. I have been ruminating on our mutual past and I miss you and have regrets. I would like to discuss them in person if you are amenable. Please write back under encryption. I have enclosed hair as a token of trust & so that you may spell the return letter so only I can read it._

_Love, yr cousin,  
Bellatrix_

We'll see where this leads.

19 February 1996

Well. Damn it all, I found the first letter. The one that I sent to Sirius, I mean, that he returned with that invitation to meet and started us off on the whole affair. Apparently I have been here before, and not just in flirting with Sirius.

I'm enclosing it but I'm thinking about burning this whole journal - it's starting to seem like self-reflection is a very bad idea for Blacks in general.

_Dear Sirius,_

_I hope you are well and that your N.E.W.T.s were tolerable - I mean, I know they were, I had dinner with Mrs. McLaggen the other day whose husband's brother works for the Wizarding Examining Authority and she didn't tell me your scores exactly but she let me know that I had reason to be proud (if I considered you family still) or suspicious of cheating (if not)._

_Never fear, I told her that of course anyone of Black blood could never have done poorly, so your scores have not been amended to reflect your father's displeasure._

_Reggie has done quite well on O.W.L.s - also a feature of the conversation - and I suppose he could do anything at all with them if he was to use them for something, which we both know will not be. Your father is having the worst time training him in your stead, by the way; I have been accused of corrupting him half a dozen times in the mail. He has written an editorial to the newspaper complaining about the corruption of our nation's youth from their familial loyalties and idiot young hotheads who know nothing about politics and barely been dissuaded from sending in the thing._

_It's really Narcissa your father should be angry with on that score and this is why I'm writing you, I suppose. Reggie is sixteen now, which I imagine you will not have forgotten. Narcissa has - damn it. I am not saying that I have suddenly come to oppose the Dark Lord, certainly not, nor that I regret joining him - I don't - or that I don't want Reggie to agree with me, but..._

_God damn it. But he's gone and joined now. He's too young and he's too - he's exactly like you, you know? I don't care that he went into Slytherin and he worships the ground your mother walks on, you are cut from the same cloth. If he doesn't like something he goes after it like a bull. He puts his political opinions in a collage over his bed. And you need - for service - I am not saying he will regret it or he will change his mind, but if he does--_

_Damn it, I will say it, he is not at all pragmatic, he believes in sincerity and courage and all sorts of ridiculous chivalric values and he is going to get himself killed. I could strange Narcissa for supporting him in his bid to join now. AND I CAN'T EVEN SAY SO. I HAD TO CONGRATULATE HIM._

_So you see why I picked up a pen to write to you - I mean, I could say 'I think it is perhaps a bit hasty' to your father, if nothing else so he didn't call me out over risking his remaining son's life, but I can't say that this is madness and I do believe it is. I do. He is young and senseless and I am watching him slip right through my fingers, like ~~Andromeda~~ you._

_Please write back if only so I know this letter didn't go astray._

_Love,  
Yr. Cousin,  
Bellatrix_

Not sure what to do about this. Not sure what I could do about it. Nothing, I suppose.

21 February 1996

Sirius wrote back. It was singularly unilluminating but he did agree to meet - here is the full text:

_Bella,_

_Meet me at the Hog's Head if you're sincere. I know it's dangerous, but I told Dumbledore a familial connection had written to me about the possibility of defecting, and you know Aberforth never looks into disguises much. The way Voldemort is messing with Harry I'd be an idiot to meet you anywhere without allies; this way we'll have some privacy._

_Write back with a time and we'll assume it's good unless I say otherwise. I have absolutely no demands on mine._

_Sirius_

I suppose I am going, then. And bringing my own glass. The Hog's Head, honestly.

23 February 1996

Well... Sirius is still asleep, and here I am in Grimmauld Place again. I don't know how I am going to handle this - it's enough to make me wish I had done what I was so obviously longing to do in 1978 and gone for it when no one had a clear idea of who I was or what I'd done outside the Death Eaters but then of course he'd have been much freer to retaliate against me socially.

Dawn is coming in about a half hour and then I shall have to get up and see who else is in the house. (Note to self - speak to Kreacher about the condition it's in, my god.) I suppose it will be an unpleasant task but hardly the worst I've done, eg. telling Sirius I was right, Regulus _did_ get himself killed.

Not being an utter fool I have things to trade: there are the current plans of course, and I have some fairly extensive notes on recovery from Cruciatus that might serve to mitigate the situation with the Longbottoms enraging everyone, and I also went to the vault in Gringotts just before meeting Sirius and retrieved a certain item, the nature of which I will not entrust to paper.

Sirius is stirring. I had better go.


End file.
